


Brain Freeze

by Topaz_Eyes



Series: House: Freeze/Thaw [1]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, Gift Fic, Kisslet, M/M, Pre-Slash, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-19
Updated: 2009-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 09:56:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When Miss Pneumatic Weather Girl on Channel Eleven said tonight's temperature was going to be twenty, she didn't mean Celsius."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brain Freeze

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hannahrorlove](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=hannahrorlove).



> a kisslet fic from [](http://hannahrorlove.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hannahrorlove.livejournal.com/)**hannahrorlove**'s prompt of _lip-to-cheek kisses, both intentional and the target turning aside. House fandom, any characters._ I chose the target turning aside.

House emerged from the fourth floor elevator, feeling especially pleased with himself this evening. It had been an exceptionally good day: case solved, patient yanked back from the brink of death and now doing well on replacement enzyme therapy; not everyone picked up on late-onset Pompe's disease with a negative muscle biopsy. A celebration was in order, he decided. A bottle of Maker's Mark, a couple of cigars, and Wilson to share in his triumph. Yeah, that was a good start.

But when he went to knock on Wilson's office door, no crack of light shone beneath. Which meant he'd already left, though it seemed early; checking his watch, it was only a little past seven. Still, House was peeved there would be no audience.

On returning to his office, he chanced to look out his balcony door, and caught a glimpse of a person standing outside. Huh. Maybe Wilson was in after all. He pulled his jacket on, opened his door and stuck his head out to check.

Yup. There he was. Wilson, in rolled-up shirtsleeves, no sign of tie or coat or suit jacket, leaning on the balcony rail, hands folded, staring straight ahead of him. Which was not an uncommon sight in summer.

In February, with the air temperature hovering around twenty and a wind chill close to zero, was something else entirely.

Great.

On the plus side, Wilson brooding outside and half-undressed in sub-zero weather meant he was feeling especially raw and unguarded. House's chances of learning another truth about him this evening were excellent. He had to actively suppress his glee; today was turning too good to be true.

He stepped out and crossed the few steps to the divider between their respective balconies. Gingerly he climbed across, silently cursing the architect who designed the office wing. But when he stood up again, Wilson hadn't moved at all. Frozen in place, as it were.

"How long have you been out here?" Perfectly serious, with just the right touch of concern. He was impressed.

Wilson continued to stare out towards the parking lot with its alternating circles of halogen light and shadow on the packed snow. "What does it matter to you?" he said morosely.

On the other hand, Wilson could be a tough nut to break when he was like this. "When Miss Pneumatic Weather Girl on Channel Eleven said tonight's temperature was going to be twenty, she didn't mean Celsius," House said, noting Wilson's tensing muscles.

Wilson peered at him then turned back glumly. House saw his twisted mouth in profile, the way he blinked. A breeze blew up from the parking lot; even he had to shiver in his thick leather jacket. Wilson bowed his head, addressing the railing.

"It's been fourteen years since I saw him last."

House blinked at this sudden and frank admission. Fourteen years? Who in Wilson's life would fit that statement--? Oh. Right.

No celebration tonight.

"It's been five years since you told me," House said carefully, switching to full observation and diagnosis mode. He remembered the cold street corner in the scummier part of town, the even colder cinder block they'd sat on. His leg had ached for days afterwards.

"Every year, I go back to the same street corner. I sit, I wait, I keep thinking, this year, maybe this year I'll see him walk up, we'll--I wait all night but nothing happens. I leave--"

"You wallow in your self-pity for days--"

"It gets harder every year," Wilson said, not hearing. "And of course, last year Amber went with me--" He chuckled hollowly. "I can't do this anymore, House. It's been too long--he doesn't want to be found."

"Or he's dead."

"Or he's dead." Wilson looked up at House, his eyes shadowed in his pale face. "Either way, why bother this year when I know I'm just setting myself up?"

They stared at each other, House growing warier by the minute. Clearly Wilson was waiting for something from him, but what--

It clicked. He backed up, only partly mocking. "Oh, God. You want me to comfort you in your hour of need, don't you."

Wilson straightened, spreading his hands out defensively as he backed towards his balcony door. "You're right. It was exceedingly stupid of me to expect you to go beyond--You know what, House? Forget it. Forget I ever said anything to you at all. Five years ago, tonight, just--"

A violent fit of shivering racked Wilson's body just as he turned and reached out for the handle; teeth chattering, he fumbled at the door. House saw how his hand couldn't form a proper grip. Dammit. House hobbled over and opened the door for him.

They stepped into the warmth of the dark office; once inside, and the door locked, he leaned his cane against the handle. "You're an idiot," House said as he unzipped his jacket.

Wilson stood hunched with his back to him. "Go away, House. I'm fine," he stuttered with cold.

"Like hell you are," House replied, thinking quickly. "You're freezing."

"Like hell you care."

"Shut up and come here."

"What?" Wilson pivoted, rubbing his arms furiously; goosebumps pimpled the bare skin on his forearms, and in the faint light from outside his nails and lips appeared blue.

"Come. Here. You're shivering and your skin's pale, which means you've got mild to moderate hypothermia. Shared body heat is the most efficient means to warm up."

Well, at least this plan of action was medically indicated. He could live with that. "Now get your ass over here or I take you to the ER for a heated saline enema," he added at Wilson's scowl.

"You, or an enema. An interesting choice," Wilson said warily, but he stepped forward to close the space anyway.

House spread his jacket open clumsily; pulling Wilson in, chest to chest with his arms straight down to maximize contact area (but no way was he going skin-to-skin), he wrapped the jacket around Wilson's torso as best he could. He then locked his arms around him, a more difficult job than he thought because Wilson was so chilled it was like embracing a vibrating iceberg.

He must have been outside moping on the balcony for an hour. "You moron," House said almost kindly. "Freezing to death never solved anything."

They fell silent; the only sounds in the room were Wilson's shivering and a faint hum from his sleeping computer, punctuated by the odd announcement over the PA system. To pass the time House mentally reviewed the Pompe's disease case. Definitely a paper would be forthcoming from it.

As the minutes ticked, though, he ran out of details to consider, and he found himself mulling over this current situation. Maybe it was just the cold from Wilson seeping into his brain, numbing his higher centers. At least he hoped so, because in his mind it should not have felt as comfortable as it did, standing with his hypothermic best friend shivering in his arms, wrapped up together in his jacket.

He so did not do warm and cozy; he almost wished Wilson had chosen the enema instead. He had said he'd try to be a better friend, sure, though this wasn't the type of interaction he'd had in mind. Still, as Wilson's shivers subsided, as warmth began to creep back into his body, House let himself relax into it. A bit. Maybe.

After a while, he felt Wilson shift in his arms; about time, because he'd had enough of this weird closeness for tonight, and the Maker's Mark was calling. House loosened his hold to let Wilson go--but he stiffened when he realized Wilson was simply changing position. His eyes widened as Wilson snaked his arms around House's waist in a proper embrace; he blinked in confusion as Wilson burrowed into the side of his neck, letting himself rest there.

O-kay. Treating Wilson's hypothermia was one thing, but this was wandering somewhere totally unexpected. Especially when he found himself adjusting his arms to accommodate, pulling Wilson tighter against him.

That slight side-to-side movement--God, were they _swaying_? And Wilson wasn't letting go, either, he was tightening his grip. House wasn't sure if he even wanted Wilson to let go, because he could get used to this, and _where in hell did that thought come from?_ because this was supposed to be only about Wilson's hypothermia. He breathed in Wilson's scent of cold, salt sweat, and Aqua Velva, and his eyes drifted closed as a wave of something warm and soothing descended over him, clearing his mind of everything but the sensations of shared warmth, rocking, closeness--

It was then that House noticed the tingling, like a heaviness settling around his lips.

Not quite a numbing, not quite a swelling, it wasn't a cold sore type of feeling as far as he could tell--not that he'd ever had herpes himself, he'd heard enough about it from umpteen clinic patients. He pursed them, he licked them, but the discomfort didn't subside.

At that moment, Wilson pulled back a bit and straightened. There was only an inch's difference in height between them, so when he opened his eyes he found himself staring openly at Wilson's slightly parted lips.

He thought he'd learned every angle of Wilson's face over the years, but funny how he'd never noticed the fullness of his lips before--ridiculously full for a man. Studying them, he wondered if they were actually as soft and pliant as they looked. More so, would they actually ease this stupid ache around his mouth if he--? Deciding to find out, he leaned in to close the distance.

But Wilson ducked his head at the very last moment, so House ended up pressing his lips to the skin just behind Wilson's ear instead. _Oh, shit._ Then Wilson stepped back, breaking the embrace altogether, looking and sounding as confused as House suddenly felt.

"Did--did you just try to kiss me?"

House forcefully pushed the rising panic back down his throat. "I was going to check your temperature," he replied quickly, cursing the hoarse tone emanating from him. He shifted his gaze to the _Ordinary People_ poster on Wilson's wall.

"With your lips?"

"It's the method trusted by parents everywhere. Just ask Cuddy."

Dammit, just buy into it already, he added silently.

Wilson frowned, pursing his lips. "Somehow, even my vast powers of cognitive dissonance break down at the thought of you as a human thermometer, much less a parent."

House nodded with a silent sigh of relief. The wryly amused tone meant Wilson's shields were already back in place. Though House wondered how much alcohol and Vicodin it was going to take to erase this night for him.

"Hungry?" House wasn't, but he had to say something inane to fill the space.

Wilson took another step away and rubbed the back of his neck. "I think--I think I'm just going to go home." He headed over to the coat rack to pick up his suit jacket and coat.

"No, you're not."

Wilson turned, coats draped over his arm, and met House's gaze directly, acknowledging the truth of House's statement.

"Good night, House," he replied softly. "See you tomorrow." With that he was gone.

House stood in Wilson's empty office, staring at the carpet. Whatever the hell had happened earlier--even if he had enjoyed that earlier closeness a little more than he cared to admit--he was not going there. So not going there tonight, if ever.

He would do something useful instead. He pulled out his wallet, thumbing through it. There it was. He removed the card and set it down, name side up, on Wilson's desk. Should've just done this in the first place, he thought. Maybe Lucas would turn up something after all this time; if only to give Wilson some closure, so they wouldn't have to re-visit--

Yeah, it was past time for that Maker's Mark now. Slowly, painfully, he headed back to his own dark office and the bottle stashed in the bottom drawer of his desk.


End file.
